


One By One They Fall

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s02e02 In the Shadow of Two Gunmen Part II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-06-23
Updated: 2001-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-15 12:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14790366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: The aftermath of the shooting.





	One By One They Fall

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

 

TITLE: One By One They Fall   
AUTHOR: Charlotte Unsworth   
RATING: PG   
CATEGORY: Season One finale resolution, Angst   
SPOILERS: Takes place after the season one finale   
SUMMARY: The aftermath   
DISTRIBUTION Just let me know.   
DISCLAIMER: I wish.   
FEEDBACK: Love it or hate it, either way please tell me

  


One by one they fall.

Such a tiny object, a bullet. A few millimetres   
across, maybe a centimetre long. Hold one in your   
hand and it seems to weigh barely more than a few   
small coins. But unleash ten bullets and the   
destruction they can cause is complete.

He sees them fall.

In the moments after the first scream he feels   
everything slow down. He can't remember why he was   
late out of the building, why the other staff were in   
front of him. When he did come outside it was to be   
greeted with utter chaos. People were running,   
terrified, and it took him moments to understand and   
connect the fleeing crowds with the sounds   
he heard echoing from the buildings around him.

He sees the Secret Service scrambling for their   
protectees but never knows if they reach their   
targets. Staring through the bars, the metal is so   
cold it stings his hands but he grips it so hard his   
knuckles are white.

He sees them fall.

Unable to move he scans the crowds, desperately   
searching for his colleagues, his friends. His   
President. He sees Sam fall into CJ, and Toby and Leo   
lying on the ground and he wants to scream for   
somebody to help them, wants to go and help them   
himself but he can't move.

In just minutes the area is transformed. The cheering   
crowds are gone, banners lie abandoned behind the   
ropeline. Some people will never leave Rosslyn and   
even if they can the memory will stay with them. They   
are all changed by that night. Others are helped into   
cars, ambulances, the cavalcade. A few stand shocked   
and surveying the scene. There is weeping, and sirens   
screaming to and from the newseum. Josh doesn't hear   
any of them. He sees the events in slow motion and in   
utter silence, as though watching on a muted television   
from a distance. He wonders that he can see this   
destruction with such detachment.

Then he looks down.

He sees a red stain spreading quickly across his   
shirt and notes with faint surprise that he is   
sitting now, leaning against the railings.

He wonders if anyone saw him fall.

::-------------::

She stayed at work to watch the speech in her boss's   
office. She knows that when he returns he will have   
work to do, and that he will need her there. And so   
she stayed. Besides, she enjoys the exultation they   
all share at moments such as this and would not   
wish to miss being a part of it when they get back.

It is a good speech, she thinks as she listens. Sam   
and Toby have done fine work once more and the   
President is his most comfortable at this kind of   
meeting. She hears him mention Charlie and smiles to   
think of how proud the young man must be right now.   
She remembers his frustration over not feeling   
comfortable telling the President his opinion and how   
she often feels the same. At least her boss does   
listen to her opinion, she thinks wryly, even if he   
does mask it with jokes and sarcasm.

The senior staff are glimpsed fleetingly, standing at   
the back of the crowd when the camera swings across   
the hall. She takes pleasure in seeing each one and   
there is a small thrill in being involved with people   
like this, even if nobody else knows it but her.

She can imagine the jubilation of the staff leaving   
the hall to enthusiastic cheering. They have been   
rejuvenated recently and the speech is further proof   
of their newfound optimism. The commentator following   
the speech says the same; there is something more in   
the Bartlet administration than there was just a few   
weeks ago. The programme moves on, to a discussion of   
the President's political agenda for the coming   
months and she presses the mute button.

She turns to the desk and the folder she was planning   
to read during the speech in preparation for Josh's   
return. Instead, as she had suspected, she became   
caught up in the speech and will have time to do   
no more than quickly skim through the information.   
She secretly prefers his office to her own desk   
and decides to stay there to work until they   
get back.

Flashing on the screen beside her catches her eye and   
she looks back.

For a moment she thinks she has accidentally changed   
the channel and has stumbled on some police movie or   
drama. Then she sees the newseum and realises that   
the flashing lights must be accompanied by screaming   
sirens, and that the people running are not acting   
but are escaping in terror. In an effort to control   
her panic she reaches for the remote and turns up the   
volume.

"...unconfirmed how many shots have been fired..."   
she waits no longer, doesn't stop to hear about the   
tragedy she felt coming the instant she saw the red   
and blue emanating from the screen. Something deep   
inside screams that she cannot hear this from a   
television set, she just can't, and there is only one   
place the senior staff will be heading now.

Donna does not hear the rest of the report. She is   
already leaving the office. The folder lies open on   
the desk, the light is on and the door open but she   
does not care.

She wonders with a growing sense of dread who it was   
that fell.

::-------------::

He thinks the sirens are fading now, though the red   
and blue light regularly swings over him. Someone   
finds him, a man he thinks he should know but can't   
remember. The man is angry, shouting that he has been   
looking for Josh, he was worried. Josh holds up a   
hand in greeting, the hand that has been pressed   
against his shirt. The man's face changes to fear   
and he turns, running away from Josh and shouting   
something indistinct.

He wants to ask the man to stay, but can't speak.

He looks at his hand and sees the reason for the   
man's fear. It is covered in blood. Staring at it, it   
does not look real. He has seen blood on television,   
in films, but it did not look like this. Somehow that   
seems more real to him now than this surreal and   
eerily lit world.

The man returns, bringing with him two others who   
kneel beside him. He knows his name, he does, and   
fights to bring the memory to the surface.

He saw his friends fall.

"Sam."

The man kneels too, and there is pressure on his   
sodden hand.

"He's alright, he'll be fine."

So this man is not Sam. Who else could he be? Another   
name floats to the surface of his mind. 

"Toby."

"Don't worry about them, Josh. They're going to be   
okay."

Not Toby either. As the man leans to hear the   
paramedic's murmur his name comes to Josh.

"Leo." There is a small glimmer of triumph as relief   
shows on the man's face. He is Leo. He is conscious   
of moving, somehow, being carried maybe although the   
movement seems too fluid, too easy. "Leo." A shade of   
memory floats just beyond his reach. A mistake,   
something he should not have done. That made this   
man striding beside him, tightly clasping his hand,   
look at Josh with disappointment in his eyes. "I'm   
sorry."

"Josh, don't try to speak. It's fine." He tries to   
tell him it's not, but can't get the words out in   
more than a whisper.

"Sorry. Shouldn't have - said that to Hoynes."

He feels himself lifted up, and the pressure on his   
hand is gone. A mask comes down on his face; he   
fights to pull it off but can't resist the hands that   
press it back.

"Stay," he murmurs, but there is no reply.

Behind him the ambulance doors close as it screams   
away into the night. It leaves behind a man, one man   
who resisted the orders of the Secret Service and of   
the doctors and police who flooded the once crowded   
square. To stay with him. Now, with Josh carried away   
from him, he acquiesces to their demands and allows   
himself to be guided away.

::-------------::

She sees secret service agents, stepping in front of   
her to block her path. Absently staring over their   
shoulder she pulls out her White House ID badge. They   
look at it, then each other.

"Sorry. Restricted access." Her gaze snaps back to   
them.

"I have to go in." One shakes his head. She sees a   
glimmer of sympathy but it is not enough.

"It's okay," comes a voice behind them

Then she sees him. His face tells her that something   
terrible has happened and she has a childish urge to   
run. Maybe if she hides then it will all go away. She   
won't have to face losing her friends.

But Sam comes up to her, guides her into the waiting   
room.

"I saw the news report," she tells him softly, not   
wanting him to tell her the story.

He sinks into the soft cushions of the seats, burying   
his face in his hands and she dreads hearing what he   
will say. When he looks up at her after what seems   
like forever, there are tears streaming down his   
face.

"Josh is in surgery now."

Slowly, she sits beside him. She places her arms   
around him and holds him as he leans his head against   
her and cries.

She stares across the empty room.

::-------------::

Things need doing. He knows that, as he has always   
known what to do and how to do it. But in times of   
trouble he has always turned to his work to provide   
solace. Instead, he is walking anxiously up and down   
these hospital corridors waiting for news.

He needs to be here.

He had returned to the White House, met with the   
President and the Secret Service. All the time   
thinking: Josh. His distraction must have been   
evident, the president drew him to one side and told   
him to go to the hospital.

He needs to be here.

He saw Sam in the waiting room, consoled by Donna. It   
was not the racking sobs he heard coming from his   
usually unflappable Deputy Communications Director   
that threw him. It was the blank face of his deputy's   
assistant. She looked as though she had given up.

He can't help but think that maybe he has too.

Because every time a doctor comes out of the OR, or a   
nurse hurries down the hallway he is afraid to meet   
their eyes for fear that they have come to tell him   
that it simply was not possible to save this man.

He remembers Josh. As a child, and although as he was   
growing up Leo had drifted away from his father and   
saw less of the family, he was sent pictures. His   
father had been so proud at his graduation and called   
Leo after not talking for nearly a year to tell him:   
his son was going to Harvard. He remembered convincing   
him to leave Hoynes, to come work for Bartlet. He'd   
known that as soon as Josh heard him speak he would be   
convinced. He was a good man, and desperate for   
someone in politics who was the genuine article. He   
had tried to conceal his excitement when he called   
Leo to accept his offer, but Leo heard it anyway   
and smiled. As he remembers he tries to push the   
images from his mind, seeing them as signs of   
defeat.

He does not want to see Josh in the past.

At the same time he is silently terrified that the   
past is all he has. That this young, brilliant man   
who has so much potential and has become like a   
son, is fighting for his life and cannot win.

::-------------::

He hates losing patients.

It is a sign of his vulnerability, of his   
powerlessness against the god or higher power   
that millions of people put their faith in   
every day. One of the reasons he became a   
surgeon was to challenge that ultimate   
authority, to prove that good people did not   
have to die in some random way simply because   
"God decided it was their time."

He hates losing patients.

And he vows that this man will not be one of them.   
While those around him whisper that he is a victim of   
the shooting that evening, that he works at the White   
House, all he thinks is that he will not allow God to   
win this one.

The man lying on the table, so pale that he seems to   
have left his lifeblood at Rosslyn, is doing his best to   
prove him wrong. Three times he has been forced to   
stop and resuscitate him, continuing past the point   
those working beside him would have done.

But each time he has come back, and the doctor allows   
himself to believe that this man can be saved.

He refuses to lose this patient.

::-------------::

She leaves Sam in the waiting room, sleeping   
restlessly. She envies him that momentary   
peacefulness where he will not be constantly waiting   
for the news to come, waiting for somebody to tell   
him that he can breath again.

She can't breathe.

Since she saw the report she has been holding her   
breath and waiting, at the same time praying to a god   
she has long since stopped believing in to help her.

Leo walks down the corridor towards her and she   
stops. He draws her to the side of the hallway and   
speaks in a low voice. Over the pounding of her heart   
she can barely hear what he has to say. She realises   
that he is waiting for some kind of response, and   
gives the only one she is capable of.

"Okay."

"Donna..." She knows he wants something more from her   
but she simply can't find the energy.

She needs to breathe.

"I have to go."

She turns to walk away from him, knowing he is   
staring and debating whether to follow her or not.   
She waits for the sound of footsteps behind her but   
they do not come.

She leaves. And sitting alone in her car in the   
parking lot, she is able to breathe.

::-------------::

The West Wing is at its most subdued, yet under the   
surface of calm there is an air of hysteria   
threatening to break loose.

The music is out of place.

Music is only heard at state dinners, at official   
functions. On evenings of celebration when the staff   
are all too animated to think about going home and   
want to stay with the people they have worked with to   
achieve victory.

It shouldn't be there now.

But drifting through the halls is music, touching   
everybody and increasing the tension. Sam sees   
nervous glances in his direction as he heads   
cautiously towards the source of the music. CJ meets   
him outside Josh's office. She looks tired, he   
thinks. She has been the only one not to go to the   
hospital, the one to hold the press at bay and keep   
the nation informed while the rest of the senior   
staff were falling apart. He marvels at her strength   
and worries that nobody will be there when she   
breaks.

But the music is too loud to talk. He heard it near   
the Oval Office and followed it down here. To Josh's   
office. He looks at CJ, seeing in her face permission   
to open the door.

The chair faces away from the desk out of the window.   
Silently he closes the door behind him and reaches   
for the stereo. The silence is somehow more   
oppressive than the deafening music. Her voice takes   
him by surprise.

"I saw it in here." Moving to the window he sees   
Donna sitting upright in Josh's chair. Irrationally,   
part of him rails at her invasion of his friend's   
office, at her sitting in his chair and listening to   
his music. But then he sees the strain in her face   
that he did not see when he was consumed with his own   
grief.

She has not cried.

He knows it as instinctively as he knows that the   
reason she is here is because, like him, she cannot   
face being at the hospital and waiting, powerless.   
And he knows she will not cry because she is afraid   
that once she begins she will not be able to stop.   
That she will not cry until the waiting is over.

So he puts the music back on, softer this time. He   
sits on the desk and takes her hand.

They stare out of the window together, waiting for   
him to come back to them.

::-----------::


End file.
